The Broken Mind
by Kissy Fishy
Summary: A victim of a train wreck wakes up in the hospital with no memories. He slowly regains them, and comes to realize that some were better left forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

_Fracto Animo:_

_The Broken Mind_**  
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***AN: He's OOC for a reason. If you have the patience to wait through the whole story, you'll see why.***

_One_

The room was too bright, the boy thought. The white walls made his head hurt. He blinked several times, clearing his vision. Slowly, he rolled his head, gazing around the room. A hospital, he decided. He looked down, noting the hospital gown he was wearing. A needle was stuck in his arm. His eyes followed the clear tubing to the IV drip, hanging on its hook with a sense of peace.

The boy winced. Thinking hurt his head, he realized. He sighed with pain, closing his eyes and waiting for the headache to pass. Where was the nurse? Wasn't there supposed to be someone watching him?

He forced his eyes open and glanced around. There was supposed to be a button to call the nurse with, right? His eyes slid over the glistening metal bar on the side of his bed, searching for anything that remotely resembled a button.

Movement caught his eye. The boy glanced up, seeing the open door leading out to the hallway. Someone had walked by. He was certain of it.

The boy tried to call, make any sort of noise, but his throat was so dry. The thirst hit him painfully, so bad that he could hardly croak. "Nuh…" he tried, but nothing intelligible would leave his lips. His tongue felt like sandpaper, incapable of forming words.

Then, a miracle occurred.

A nurse walked briskly into his room, clipboard in hand. She sighed openly, clicking her pen repeatedly. "Coma patients," she grumbled, tucking some of her brown hair behind her ear. "Never do anything except eat through a tube and take up space. This is intern work. Why am I—?" She broke off with a gasp, brown eyes stretched wide. The clipboard slipped from her hand and clattered on the ground. "You're awake," she stated.

The boy nodded in agreement. He opened his mouth, desperate to form just one word. "Wa—."

"Hang on," the nurse said, holding out her hand. "I'll go get the doctor." She hurried out of the room.

The boy watched her go. Couldn't she have gotten him some water first?

He waited impatiently for the nurse to return, wondering if it would be really bad if he left the room and went looking for a water fountain.

Finally, the nurse returned, dragging someone behind her. "Look, look," she said excitedly, pointing. "He's got pretty eyes, huh?"

The doctor ripped his arm from her grasp and adjusted his glasses. The boy's mind jumped at this action, as if it sparked some sort of memory. The doctor looked at the boy, and blinked a few times. "Wow," he said. "We thought you would never wake up."

The boy nodded. No sense disagreeing with a doctor. "Wa—."

Again, he was cut off. "I'm Dr. Sato. Can you tell us your name?"

"Water."

Both Sato and the nurse cocked their heads in confusion. "Your name is water?" asked the nurse.

The boy shook his head. "I need," he croaked, "water."

"Oh!" they exclaimed together. The nurse stepped over to the sink and found a plastic cup in one of the cupboards. She filled it with water from the tap and rushed to hand it to their patient.

The boy drank gratefully, feeling the cool liquid soothe his throat. He drained the glass and smiled at them. "Thank you."

Sato smiled back at him, taking the seat nearest the bed. "So, your name," he said again. "What is it?"

The question seemed silly. The boy opened his mouth, ready to answer, when he suddenly realized he did not know. He frowned in confusion, then looked to Sato. "Do you know it?" he asked.

"You don't know?" Sato said, looking nervous.

The boy just shook his head.

With a sigh, Sato turned around and handed the boy a bag which he had not seen during his previous survey of the room. "It was with you in the wreckage," he told him.

The boy stared at it, noting the scorch marks and tears in the fabric. He ran his hand across is, wondering what its oblong and irregular shape was meant to hold. "Ryoma," he read.

"Is that you?" the nurse wondered eagerly.

The boy stared at the name. It was certainly familiar. "I think so," he murmured. Suddenly curious, he yanked the zipper on the bag down. Inside, he saw three rackets. They were red, all of them. Ryoma reached in and pulled one out, gripping the neck firmly. It felt right in his hand. He glanced at the base. An R was printed on it. Out of habit, he grabbed the strings with his other hand and squeezed, testing the tension. "I play tennis."

"Do you know your last name?" Sato inquired, leaning forward. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his brown eyes shining.

Ryoma blinked. Dr. Sato's eyes were green. Why had he seen brown?

Disappointed with his lack of answer, Sato leaned back again. "I suppose not," he sighed. "Perhaps your memories will return later on."

"How did I get here?" Ryoma asked.

The doctor and the nurse exchanged a grimace. "You were on a train, three days ago," the nurse informed him. "It derailed on the way to Fussa. Forty-eight people died, and over one hundred and fifty were injured." She gave him a small smile. "You got lucky."

Ryoma could only nod. He seemed to be doing a lot of nodding. "Um," he began, and he realized he was scared to ask, "has anyone… anyone been looking for me?"

Again, the two exchanged a fearful glance. "W-well, no reports have reached us yet, but that doesn't mean no one is looking. We will do a search for any missing person reports for boys named Ryoma."

Ryoma's heart sank. Gone for three days, and no one was looking for him. "Alright," he said, and the optimism died in his voice.

Dr. Sato tried to smile. It faltered on his face, and to cover for it he bowed quickly. "I will check on you again later," he promised. "Get some rest, alright?" and he left the room.

The nurse stepped over to Ryoma and smoothed his hair comfortingly. "Don't worry," she assured him, her cold hands cupping his face. This close, he could see her ID. Tomoko Suzuki. The name rang a bell. "Someone is searching for you."

Ryoma reached up and touched her hand. "How can you be sure?" he whispered, his true fear showing.

Suzuki gave him a warm smile. "Because someone like you is much loved. I can see it in your pretty eyes." She removed her cold hands from his cheeks and left.

***AN: Thank you for clicking, and if you're confused, I swear it will all be explained soon.***


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

_Get some rest?_ Ryoma thought, grinning. He dragged his IV stand down the hall, dodging nurses and doctors by slipping into rooms or even smiling placidly at them. No one glanced his way twice, too preoccupied with their own patients or happenings to care about the teenage boy. _I've been resting the last three days, haven't I?_

Ryoma had the tennis bag with him. He wanted to get outside, find a place where he could fool around without causing too much trouble. His hand itched to play with the racket. It was lucky the IV was in his left arm, so he could swing the racket without much difficulty.

Eventually, Ryoma found a stairwell leading to the roof. He carried his IV stand up the stairs, occasionally letting it clang against the steps. He was too eager, too excited to play tennis again—or, he thought it was again. Ryoma was fairly certain he played tennis, otherwise whose bag did he have?

The door to the roof opened with a marvelous squeak, and a rush of wind greeted the tennis player. He grinned as it teased his hair, blowing in his face. There was… something special about the wind. The memory tugged at his mind, but it was like trying to see in the dark. Try as he might, Ryoma could not quite grasp the memory.

With a bit too much enthusiasm, Ryoma slammed the IV stand on the roof and out of the stairwell. He kept the door propped open with his foot, tearing into the bag. He pulled out a racket and a ball before letting the bag drop and act as his doorstop. The smile on his face did not waver as he hurried to the other end of the roof, his metal IV stand clattering on the cement. He would play against the short wall containing the stairwell.

Ryoma bounced the ball several times, his heart pounding. "Ready," he whispered, and he tossed the ball in the air.

The ball soared off his racket, hitting the ground with a vicious spin. Ryoma stared in amazement as the ball spun on the cement before bouncing back up and hitting the wall. It rebounded and gave a few heartless bounces before finally coming to a halt.

Ryoma could not believe it. "That was so _cool!_" he cried, and he did not care who heard him. His body remembered the movements, the abilities his mind had forgotten.

The thrill was unmatched. Ryoma could not stop smiling as he started to volley with himself. He bounded back and forth across the roof, dragging his nuisance of an IV stand along with him. At first, he missed the balls frequently, but the more he played, the more accurate his hits became. It was exhilarating, the flex of his forearm as his racket collided with the ball, the wind blowing in his face, all of it. The skills and moves came back to him as he played. Memories of standing on a green court, staring down an opponent on the other side of the net, also trickled into his mind.

Finally, exhaustion took over. Ryoma sat on the roof, the racket still in his hand, panting. "Yes," he said aloud, and his smile would not fade, "I'm a tennis player." He wiped the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his hospital gown.

Ryoma picked up his ball and racket and set them carefully back in the bag. Those things… they were his life. He had always treated them with care.

He frowned as he slung the bag over his shoulder. But was this always his bag?

The trip back down the stairs was much less exciting than the one up. Ryoma had calmed his racing heart and was looking forward to getting back in his hospital bed when he opened the door to the hallway.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we have a patient missing from room 306_," the voice on the loudspeaker announced. "_Please send him to his room if you find him._"

Someone tapped Ryoma on the shoulder, making him jump. "Are you the missing patient?" the nurse asked him curiously. Ryoma stared at her. Her hair was long, pulled back in twin braids that reached past her shoulders. It was remarkably familiar…

Ryoma blinked and shrugged. "Probably."

The nurse smiled. "Come on. I'll take you to your room."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Ryoma was indeed the missing patient. Both Dr. Sato and Nurse Suzuki were pacing the room, worry showing on their faces. "I found him," the nurse proclaimed.<p>

"Ryoma!" cried the doctor, rushing up to him. "What were you thinking, leaving your room without telling anyone?" The nurse who had brought him in rolled her eyes and left.

"Sorry," Ryoma apologized, though he felt no remorse. It had been worth it.

"Where were you?" demanded Suzuki.

"The roof."

Both of the medics gasped in horror. "What were you doing up there?" wailed Sato.

Ryoma shrugged. "Playing tennis." He held up the racket with a grin. "I _must_ play tennis. I'm… I'm really good at it." He said the last bit in a mumble, afraid it would sound too prideful. He was not a proud person. That much he knew.

Suzuki, to his surprise, smiled. "I knew it," she said.

Sato adjusted his glasses, making memories tug at Ryoma's brain. "Very well," he grumbled. "I suppose it can't be helped. But next time," he warned, eyes threatening, "you tell someone, alright?"

Ryoma nodded happily. "Yes!"

With a sigh, Sato ran a hand through his black hair, making it stand up in the front. Again, the memories pulled at Ryoma, but they were as clear stormy water. "So your injuries are doing fine?" he queried.

This made Ryoma stop short. "Injuries?"

Dr. Sato had him sit on the bed and undo most of his gown. Ryoma jumped, seeing the bandages on his chest. What surprised him even more was that they were red.

The doctor clicked his tongue in disapproval. "See? You've gone and opened the wound again." Carefully, he removed the bandaging, and Ryoma had to look away. "Nurse, fetch some fresh bandages please."

"From the train wreck?" Ryoma wondered, though he already knew the answer.

Sato nodded, focused on dressing Ryoma's wound. "And there was obviously some head trauma, but we stitched you up pretty well there."

Horrified, Ryoma reached up and ran a hand across his forehead. He found the stitching near his temple, closing up what had once been a gushing, gaping wound. Forty-eight people had _died_ in that train crash. He had been so, so lucky.

Abruptly, Sato straightened up and clapped Ryoma on the shoulder. "There!" he stated. "Good as new." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Now you should…"

Ryoma did not hear the rest. He was plunged into a memory, seeing past happenings. Random bits of information, all pertaining to one individual: a boy, taller than him, with brown hair and fierce brown eyes, their power heightened by the glasses he wore, constantly sliding down the bridge of his nose…

"Ryoma?" Sato's voice was distant and quiet. "Are you listening?"

The boy was stoic, his expression always cool and collected. He observed the tennis courts with his arms folded across his chest. Ryoma stood beside him, trying to see what he saw, if he saw anything at all. They were rivals, he knew it, and he was constantly trying to beat the boy. There were brief, fleeting moments where he saw the boy smile, all compiled into one montage of rare moments. He was talking to the boy, glancing over the white and blue colors of his jersey and the name he had seen so many times before, and his own lips formed the word.

"Tezuka."

Sato frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Ryoma blinked, waking from the memory. "Oh, nothing," he said dismissively. After all, they were _his_ thoughts. Only he was privy to them.

The doctor shrugged. "If you need anything, push the little button." He pointed to something that was strapped to the metal railing of the bed, and Ryoma wondered how he had missed it before. "Don't go off again." He patted Ryoma's leg. "And I will see you tomorrow."

"Wait," Ryoma called as Sato made to leave. Sato looked back at him curiously. "Could you…" Ryoma faltered. It was a silly request after all. "Could you push your glasses up your nose?"

Sato stared at him. "You mean like this?" he tried, and with one forefinger, the doctor slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

It worked. "Kunimitsu," he said, grinning. "Kunimitsu Tezuka."

***AN: Something you will all learn very soon is that I'm a liar. And that is the only hint I'm going to give. I also have no doubt he's capable of performing the Twist Serve. Only four more chapters to go!***


	3. Chapter 3

***Here you go, Amy. Payment for your services at practice this morning XD***_  
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_Three_

That night, Ryoma could not sleep. He stared at the ceiling of his darkened room and forced himself to think. He _needed_ those memories. Without them, he could not be Ryoma, could he?

He bit his lip worriedly. His last name still escaped him. It frustrated him. After all, shouldn't a boy always know his name?

Soon it became clear that demanding his mind to produce a name would get him nowhere. Ryoma instead focused on the other things that had triggered his mind. There was playing tennis, and… and the glasses adjusting. He was sure that pushing the glasses up the nose and adjusting them were the habits of two different people. He could barely see a face swimming in the tempest that was his mind, but it was impossible to see it clearly.

Besides those, there was the spiky black hair. He definitely remembered someone with spiky black hair. And then the nurse with braids. She was achingly familiar.

Ryoma decided to focus on the last one. He tried to picture the nurse with braids on the tennis courts, a racket in her hand. It was hard to see, so… perhaps he had a girlfriend? With braids? Ryoma shook his head. That was not right either.

The tennis playing amnesiac rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. Thinking about the girl with braids made his head ache. He tried to turn the direction of his thoughts, but something kept pulling him back to the girl. A vague, blurred image burned into the darkness around him, taunting him with the knowledge of who the girl was.

By the time he fell asleep, Ryoma had only figured out two things. One was that the girl's hair was auburn. The other was that he felt guilty. And neither were any help.

* * *

><p>Morning came with Ryoma blearily opening his eyes to the sight of food in front of him. Cereal, of course, with a precut orange, but it was sustenance. The boy had not even realized how hungry he was before then. He sat up and immediately grabbed the spoon, all but inhaling the meager meal set before him.<p>

"Jeez, you're fast," Suzuki exclaimed. She was working on pulling open the blinds on the window, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm glad you can eat."

Ryoma sat back, not satisfied in the least. "Can you bring me more?" he asked pleasantly.

Suzuki nodded. "Though you should eat slowly. After being on the IV for a few days, you might get sick from having real food."

Remembering there was a needle in his arm, Ryoma glanced down at his left wrist. "Oh, it's not there anymore," he stated.

"Yep!" the nurse confirmed. She pranced over and sat on the foot of his bed. "Now that you can feed yourself, no need for it." Suzuki produced a bottle of ointment from beyond the end of the bed. "I need to put this on your chest, to prevent infection."

Ryoma nodded in understanding and undid his hospital gown. Suzuki peeled the bandages away, wincing at the sight. Ryoma looked away again, unable to handle the sight of his own injury. If the nurse thought it was bad, then there was a good chance Ryoma would faint just by glancing at it.

Suzuki's cold hands rubbed the cream into the wound, making Ryoma shiver. He knew that her hands had to be clean all the time, but did they have to be _freezing?_ The tennis player kept his eyes closed until he felt the soft cloth of the bandages against his skin again.

"Thank you," Ryoma said politely, giving the nurse a smile.

Suzuki grinned at him. "So!" she began happily. "Did you remember anything?"

Ryoma offered a shrug. "Someone named Tezuka," he said. "And a girl with braids."

"No family?"

With a sad smile, Ryoma shook his head.

The nurse sighed sorrowfully. "Well, maybe it will come back to you." She perked up. "Do you know who Tezuka is? Like, what he means to you?"

Ryoma looked at his hand, wiggling the fingers reassuringly. "A rival," he said. "And a friend." He returned his gaze to her. "There were these uniforms that everyone was wearing. They were… they were blue and white."

Suzuki's eyes lit up. "Maybe that's your tennis team."

"I hope so," Ryoma laughed. "They were _really_ good."

Suzuki laughed at this and got to her feet. "Well, I'll bring you some more food, and then I have to do the rest of my rounds."

Ryoma waved as she left the room. He liked the nurse. She was very kind, albeit a little bitter at first. He wondered if she liked her job.

A few minutes later, Suzuki returned with a new tray of food. She set it on the swinging table over Ryoma's bed. "I'll be back later to change your bandages again," she promised.

Ryoma grinned and nodded in response, his attention already on the food. He hardly noticed her leave.

The tray before him had much more food than the average hospital patient received, but Suzuki must have guessed he had an appetite. Ryoma dumped all the extra brown sugar the nurse had provided for him on his oatmeal, so much so that it was completely saturated. He scraped the bowl clean, hardly tasting the overly sweet breakfast. From there, he drained one of the four cups of orange juice Suzuki had somehow snuck him, balanced on the tray without spilling one. He would really have to thank her later.

Next, Ryoma ate the toast, spreading the butter on it thickly. He knew he was overdoing it, but it all tasted _so good._ The strawberries were consumed next, deliciously sweet. Finally, as Ryoma was starting to get full, he reached the peaches.

He liked peaches. Some memory of being in an orchard told him that. Or were those oranges? Or... were they picking cherries? Ryoma frowned. He was not sure.

Nonetheless, he grabbed the slippery slice of fruit and ate it in one bite. Yes, he thought. He did like peaches. He even liked the word "peaches."

Suddenly, the image of Dr. Sato with his hair sticking up flashed in his mind. Ryoma nearly choked on his third slice of peach, the memory taking him with no warning whatsoever.

The boy was remarkably tall, his hair adding at least an extra four inches to his height. His eyes were a deep violet color. He wore the blue and white jacket, holding his racket over his shoulder. "Come on," he beckoned. "I can't lose to you. I just can't."

Ryoma felt himself laugh, his memory self the one speaking. "You think I'll go easy on you, Momo?"

The boy flew back to reality. He looked around, realizing his tight, unrelenting grip on the sheets. Ryoma uncurled his fingers. Momo. That was the boy's name. Momoshiro.

Both joy and frustration washed over Ryoma as he fell back against the pillows again. He had remembered another member of his team, but had failed to identify _which_ team. Again. He made a face and scowled at the ceiling. Memory loss sucked.

"Oh, are you done with breakfast?"

Ryoma looked up, and jumped.

There she was. The girl with braids. He was right—her hair _was_ auburn, and very long. Almost too long. She gave him an innocent smile, which made her beautiful brown eyes close with happiness. Her outfit was the school uniform, and there was pink in her cheeks.

"Hello?"

Ryoma blinked. The nurse with braids from yesterday cocked her head at him. "Is everything alright?" She walked over, concern showing on her round face. "Should I call the doctor?"

Confused, Ryoma shook his head. "No, you just… reminded me of someone." His nose itched. Ryoma wondered why the thought of the girl made him ache inside.

The nurse's face was still worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ryoma assured her, managing a smile. "Everything's peachy." He laughed at his own joke, remembering Momoshiro.

However, the nurse did not look convinced. "I'll just take your tray, and send someone in later," she told him, lifting the tray off the table.

"Oh, thank you," Ryoma said. "That's very kind."

The nurse allowed him an uncertain smile and padded from the room. Ryoma let his head fall hard against the pillows, which he instantly regretted. He missed his home, and he struggled to remember what it was like. It was clean, he decided. It had to be, because the more he thought about his room, the more he realized it had to be a mess. There was a brief recollection of his mother telling him to clean his room, but he could not see her face. Who even knew if she was his mother?

Ryoma pushed the table off the bed and tore his blankets off. He had to get out of the constricting room, walk around. Maybe it would help him remember.

"Shoes," he mumbled. "I need shoes."

At that moment, Suzuki burst in again. "Is everything alright? Hitari-chan was just telling me—." She broke off. "What's the matter?"

"I want to go for a walk," Ryoma replied. He wiggled his toes. "But I do believe I need shoes."

Suzuki looked thoughtful for a moment. "Your clothes are around here somewhere," she murmured, scanning the room. She went to the bedside table and began pulling open drawers. "Ah ha!" she exclaimed, dropping the clothes on the bed. "Here they are."

Ryoma stared at them. There were burn marks on the pants, and a gaping hole in the shirt that was lined with bloodstain. His shoes, however, appeared normal. He lifted one up and grimaced at it. "Only my shoes can be worn in public," he chuckled.

Suzuki bit her lip. "We might have something you can wear. Can you wait?"

Ryoma nodded. Of course he would wait.

The nurse sped from the room, and while he waited Ryoma stared at his clothing. His shirt was completely ruined. The white fabric had been forever stained by his own blood, brown from being dried. His pants were no better, looking years older than they were. He had just bought them, he remembered. He had finally grown to the point where his jeans no longer reached his ankles, and had to go buy new ones. He had been happy about it. New clothes were a rarity for him, as he hadn't grown since the start of junior high.

Ryoma stared at his pants sadly. He was never meant to have new pants.

Suzuki ambled into the room, tripping slightly. In a heartbeat, Ryoma spun around and caught her, watching the clothes she had been carrying flutter to the floor. "Oh!" the nurse exclaimed, shocked at her sudden fall. Ryoma stood her upright, and she stared at him. They were about the same height, another insult to his small form. "Thank you."

Ryoma grinned and knelt down to scoop up the clothes. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble," he told her kindly.

"Well, yeah, but…" Suzuki trailed off, and Ryoma looked up at her expectantly. The nurse sighed. "It's my break, anyways. I can do whatever I want. And I want to take you to lunch."

This caught Ryoma off guard. "You can do that?" he inquired. He set the clothes on the bed in a jumbled heap, picking through them to find his size.

"Yep," Suzuki replied. Ryoma gave her a disbelieving look. "I'm the only nurse assigned to you, so no one will even know you're gone."

Ryoma shrugged. "In that case," he said, "I would love to go to lunch." He held up a pair of brown slacks. "These will do nicely." Without a thought, he slipped them on under his hospital gown, easily buttoning them up. They were slightly too big, but they were the closest to his size. He pulled off the gown completely now and grabbed the least wrinkled shirt. It was yellow, and fit him well. Ryoma smoothed the shirt out. "Excellent," he said. He reached for his shoes and slipped them on, ignoring the fact that he had no socks. "Ready?"

Ryoma turned around to see the nurse blushing quite obviously. "I… I could have left…" she said quietly.

Her reaction made Ryoma snicker. "Come on," he told her. "I'm still hungry."

***AN: Oh dear. So confusing. And hardly a hint in this chapter! But in the next one, it should get pretty obvious. **

**Greenfairy: Thank you so much for pointing that out! (**And you too, Amy. *waves like a T-Rex* Hi!) **I can't believe I looked TWICE and didn't catch it. So embarrassing. Shame on me. Anyways, till the next chapter.***


	4. Chapter 4

_Four_

"Do all tennis players eat this much?" Suzuki asked.

Ryoma paused, the fork halfway to his mouth, and pondered this. "You know," he began, "I remember some sort of eating competition. So most likely." He offered her a smile and finished off his bite.

The off-duty nurse shook her head in bewilderment. "It's a good thing my kids didn't do tennis, or I would have gone broke feeding them."

"You have kids?"

Suzuki stiffened, as if realizing she had said too much. "Sort of," she admitted cautiously. She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, focusing on the juice inside.

_Juice!_ Ryoma thought, and his mind threatened to pull him into another memory. He fought it, however, wanting to learn more about the kind nurse. "How old?"

"Um…" Suzuki said hesitantly, "elementary school." She glanced up at him. "You stopped eating?" she cried incredulously. "What, did you run out of battery?"

Ryoma allowed himself a chuckle and took a drink of his juice. _Juice!_ his mind exclaimed again, demanding he be pulled into the whirlpool of reminiscence. He had a clever retort waiting on his tongue, preparing for an inevitable wit battle with the nurse, when he could fight the memory tidal wave no longer.

"Waterfall," the boy in his memory said in a low voice. His glasses glinted in the sunlight, hiding his eyes. His black hair stuck up, though not as bad as Momo's. Ryoma watched the boy perform a spectacular serve, blowing away whoever his opponent was. The scene jumped from this to an overflowing glass, the fluids inside completely unnatural and bubbling. The boy held it proudly. "This is my—."

"Inui Juice," Ryoma said aloud.

Suzuki stared at him. "Say what?"

Ryoma reached up to his face, adjusting his imaginary glasses. "Inui," he murmured.

"Another friend of yours?" Suzuki wondered. "Did you remember?"

Still distant, Ryoma found himself nodding. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah I did."

* * *

><p>"I <em>do<em> like ice cream," said Ryoma, licking at the dessert he held in his hand. He had vanilla, because he could not remember what he liked. He realized now he should have gotten something caramel. He liked caramel.

"I _told_ you, everyone likes ice cream," Suzuki replied. Hers was chocolate. Ryoma did not think he liked chocolate ice cream.

They walked together, side by side, happily eating their ice cream. "Oh," Ryoma remarked, coming to a halt. "It's a park."

A small children's playground was set up by the sidewalk. Beyond it, the trees stretched out. Ryoma watched the children. Two of them were playing on the bars, one giving the other a boost up. The one on the bar swung one leg over it and proceeded to flip around the bar. His hair flew out behind him as he did, and Ryoma could hear him laughing.

"Eiji," he mumbled. He looked at the boy who had helped him. He had a bowl cut, and seemed happy enough to be the support on the ground. "And Oishi."

Suzuki snapped her fingers in front of his face, giving Ryoma a start. "You've got to stop having these random flashbacks," she told him. "It gets in the way of conversation."

Ryoma blinked and looked at her. "They remind me of the doubles pair on our team," he explained. "Our 'Golden Pair.'" He looked back at the boys. "But they also remind me of someone else. Especially that one." Ryoma pointed to the boy on the ground. "He has a scar on his forehead."

"I see." Suzuki tugged at his arm. "Come on. My lunch is almost over."

* * *

><p>Suzuki led Ryoma back to his room. "You know, tomorrow, we should get sushi," she told him. "There's this great place—it's a bit far, but it's worth it."<p>

Ryoma's mind jumped at the word "sushi." "What's it called?" he demanded, a bit more forcefully than he had meant.

The look Suzuki gave him made him feel horribly guilty. "Kawamura Sushi," she told him, as if she wished she hadn't said anything.

Ryoma's mind hurled him into the hurricane of memories again. He saw a boy, one whose strength he respected, thwacking tennis balls with his racket so hard that the balls caught fire. He was a completely different person with his racket than the sweet, neutral boy he was without it. "I want to run my dad's sushi shop," he said. "So after this, I'm quitting tennis."

"Taka-san!" Ryoma shouted. He wanted to lunge forward, grab his friend by the shirt and shake him senseless. _How_ could he quit tennis? He wasn't Seigaku's baggage, no matter what anyone thought. The team needed him, wanted him, _loved_ him. It wouldn't be the same without him.

"Taka-san?"

Ryoma blinked. He was back in the hospital, wearing the spare clothes Suzuki had brought him. "Sorry!" he quickly apologized. "I was… lost in thought." And now, he realized, he knew what school he went to.

"Who's Taka-san?" Suzuki wondered.

"He's my friend," Ryoma told her. "My teammate."

Suzuki gave him a weird look. "Are all your friends on the tennis team?"

Ryoma frowned. "Is that bad?"

"No, no," Suzuki assured him, waving away his question. "Just seems a bit closed off." She looked at her watch. "You'd better get in the bed and act all hospital-worthy, or else Sato will put me on clinic duty or something." She hurried from the room. "I'll be back later!" she called.

Ryoma closed the door after her and changed back into the hospital gown. He crawled into the bed, instantly bored. His eyes drifted to the tennis bag sitting on the chair by the bed. Would it really be so bad to play? The injury on his chest gave him a small spark of pain, and he knew that it would.

With a resigned sigh, Ryoma found the TV remote on the bedside table and flipped the television on.

_"…and the most remarkable thing about this snake is its ability to attack with frightening speed and accuracy, making it…"_

Ryoma was sucked into another memory. Someone with a bandana, who hissed when he was angry. His tennis was strange and snakelike, with balls that curved around the net or spun their way out of the opponent's reach. He worked harder than everyone else, following his own schedule.

"Kaidoh," Ryoma said. "The viper."

***AN: The awful way he remembered Inui and Kaidoh is killing me, but I just ran out of ideas. I was going to have them find a snake on their walk, but that seemed even less plausible, so I went with the Discovery Channel. **

**Only two chapters left! Hopefully some of you are starting to pick up on my subtle hints. It gets glaringly obvious in the next chapter.***


	5. Chapter 5

_Five_

That night, Ryoma dreamed of a boy and a girl. The girl was tall, and very pretty. She had a warm smile. The boy was tall as well, but his face was not near as welcoming. A distinct scar was present on his forehead.

His dream shifted to the girl with braids. He was walking with her, listening to her speak while her cheeks became a deep red. Her words were not meant for his ears, he knew. Someone else needed to hear them even more.

Dear God, what was her _name?_

"Ryoma?"

Ryoma jumped awake. The nurse Suzuki was hovering over his bedside, concern showing on her face. "I-I'm sorry," she stumbled. "I shouldn't have woken you, but you looked like you were having a nightmare."

Ryoma's heart was racing. He pushed his hair back, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead. "It's my fault," he murmured.

Suzuki leaned forward. "What is?"

"I don't know!" he snapped, and Suzuki backpedaled with fright. Ryoma took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I've done something awful and I don't know _what_ it was." He realized his fists were clenched, and they shook as he uncurled them. "Sorry," he said again.

Suzuki only nodded. "I brought you breakfast," she told him meekly.

Guilt washed over Ryoma, realizing he had taken his frustration out on the wrong person. "Thank you so much," he said genuinely. "I appreciate it, really."

Suzuki bit her lip. "So you'll still come with me to sushi later?"

Ryoma blinked in surprise. "Of course!" he said, his smile lighting up the room.

"Great," Suzuki said. She took the seat by his bed. "Please excuse me, but I have to ask. What were you dreaming about?"

Ryoma halted in raising the toast to his lips. Gently, he set it back on the tray, avoiding the nurse's gaze. "My siblings, I think," he said quietly. "Their names are hazy, but I know it was them." He glanced up at her. "My brother has a scar on his forehead."

Suzuki's breath caught in her throat, remembering the boy at the park. Ryoma looked away and continued talking. "And then there's the girl with braids again. She keeps haunting me. And I _can't_ remember who she is." Suddenly, he whipped his head around and glared at the tennis bag. "It's that thing," he muttered. He knew that much, at least. "That's what caused it, whatever it is." His eyes flashed as he looked back to her. "Take it. Get rid of it. I don't want it."

"What?" Suzuki said in confusion.

"Get the bag away from me," Ryoma ordered. "I can't see it anymore. I'll never have peace if it stays."

Startled by his sudden change, Suzuki stood and slung the bag over her shoulder. She would not throw it away. She would keep it. Ryoma would want it later, she was certain. "Very well," she agreed. The nurse turned on her heel and whisked away, leaving the patient to wallow in his misery.

* * *

><p>Suzuki could not believe Ryoma's abrupt attitude shift. She was certain he loved tennis. Why would he get rid of his bag?<p>

"Hey!"

The nurse kept walking. It didn't sound like her boss, and even if it was, she could easily explain why she had a tennis bag. But right now, she had to find a place for safekeeping. Perhaps her locker…?

Someone grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face them. "What the—!" Suzuki exclaimed, but the boy cut her off.

"Hey!" he said again, and his brown eyes were furious. His green hair hung in his face, making his expression all the more threatening. If only he wasn't so short… "What are you doing with my bag?"

Suzuki's brain came to a dead stop. "Uh… what?" was the only intelligent thing she could think of to say.

"That," the boy went on, pointing, "is my tennis bag. And you," he pointed angrily at her, "are a thief."

The nurse just stared at him. "I think you're mistaken," she laughed. She looked around nervously. The boy was making a scene, and people were peering at them curiously. "This is the bag of a patient on the third floor."

"No," the boy argued. "It's _my_ bag. It has my name on it. My father gave it to me for Christmas when I was six." He looked at it a little closer. "Why is it all burned?" he demanded.

Poor Suzuki was completely lost. She hadn't done anything wrong, she was sure of it! "I swear, this bag arrived with the patient on the third floor," she assured him.

The boy folded his arms crossly. "Then I want to talk to this patient," he stated.

"I can't allow visitation unless you're family," Suzuki told him.

Frustrated, the boy fixed her with a harsh glare. "Wait here," he commanded stubbornly, and he marched off.

Suzuki watched him go. He had such an attitude. It ticked her off. Who did he think he was, accusing poor women like her without any reason?

"Echizen, are you _sure_ it's your bag?"

"How many bags could possibly have my name on it, Oishi-senpai?"

Suzuki stiffened. Oishi? Did he just say _Oishi?_ Oh dear God. Her supervisor. Oh, she was _so_ out of a job now.

Carefully, the lowly nurse turned with her best smile plastered on her face. "Hi, Dr. Oishi," she greeted.

The boy was back, and behind him he had Suzuki's supervisor, Dr. Oishi, a boy who looked like Oishi's son, and about six other boys. Oh Lord, he had brought his army!

"Suzuki-san," Dr. Oishi began, "it appears you have this young man's bag."

Suzuki immediately began rambling. "Sir, I am _so_ sorry, but this bag belongs to someone on the third floor, and he told me he didn't want it anymore, and that I should throw it away, but I couldn't do that because he really loves tennis, even if he doesn't remember it, and this boy wants to see the patient but I can't do that because he's not family right?"

Oishi looked as if he had just heard a dolphin chatter on high speed. "Ah…" he said, since he hadn't understood a word. "Well, um… I'll go talk to this patient." He looked back at the gang of boys. "Shuichiro, take your team back to my office. We'll continue the lecture about injuries later. Echizen and I will go sort this out upstairs." His son nodded, and the team padded away with murmurs and several glances back. Oishi looked to Suzuki. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Suzuki knocked gently on the door. "Ryoma?" she called warily, pushing the door open.<p>

Ryoma cocked his head at her. "Why are you being so timid?" he asked. He glanced at the clock. "It's not lunchtime yet. Is something wrong?"

"Uh, actually," Suzuki laughed, "there are some people here to see you." She opened the door all the way, and the boy pushed his way in first. Oishi followed, a bit calmer than the teen.

"You—!" The boy broke off abruptly, his face a look of sheer astonishment. "Fuji-senpai," he said.

Oishi looked down at the boy. "_This_ is that Fuji boy my son is always talking about?"

Fuji cocked his head at them. "…Yes," he said slowly. "That's my name." He frowned, puzzled. "Ryoma Fuji?"

"No, no," the boy told him. "I'm Ryoma. Ryoma Echizen. You're Shusuke Fuji."

Fuji stared at him. The memories were faint, but definitely there. "I… recognize you," he mumbled.

"Yes, Shuichiro," Oishi was saying, and Suzuki saw he had his phone to his ear. "Bring your team up here. Room 306. And hurry."

Suzuki stared at the boy she had been caring for the last few days. "Your name is Fuji?" she asked, as if wanting him to deny it.

"It sounds right," Fuji replied, nodding.

"Dad!" someone called from the hall, and Oishi's son and company came rushing into the room. "What—Fuji!" he cried.

A boy with red hair leaped right over Oishi's son and rushed to the bed, his arms outstretched. "Fuji!" he yelled, his eyes brimming with happiness. He jumped, landing on top of the patient in brutal hug. "We all thought you were dead!

Fuji squeezed him back, despite the crushing pain in his chest. "Eiji!"

"See?" Inui said. Fuji peered around Eiji's head to see the tall boy, habitually adjusting his glasses. He gently smacked Tezuka (it was Tezuka! And he was smiling!) with his notebook. "I told you the data doesn't lie."

"You said there was a seventy percent chance he was alright," Tezuka snapped. He gestured to Fuji, currently being suffocated by Eiji's unrelenting hug. "He is _clearly _not alright."

"Aw, captain, were you worried about me?" Fuji said teasingly.

Oishi rushed forward and pulled his partner off Fuji. "Eiji, you're going to kill him," he said. He grinned at Fuji. "You have no idea how boring art class is without you."

That's right. He was taking an art class for an elective with Oishi. He had made a clay pot that resembled the vice-captain's head and left it on Oishi's desk with a note "from a secret admirer," then sat back and laughed his head off at his friend's face. Fuji gave a chuckle at the memory. "I remember that," he said happily. He looked around. "Where are my brother and sister?" Confusion came over his features. "I do have siblings, right?"

The rest of the team crowded around his bed, eager to hear the amnesiac. Taka-san, the one with the sushi shop, nodded. "Yes, Yuuta and Yumiko." He smiled warmly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "I can call them, if you like."

Fuji nodded. "Yes, please." He glanced around again, grinning at their eager faces. "I remember all of you now," he declared. His bright expression faltered. "Except… there was a girl. With braids. What was her name?"

Fuji watched the happy faces around him become careful and uncertain. "You mean Ryuzaki-sensei's granddaughter?" Momo said, and his voice was meek and sad. This was not how Fuji remembered him.

"Yes, that's the one," confirmed Fuji.

Abruptly, everyone cast a wary glance at Echizen. Fuji followed their gaze, puzzled. Echizen tugged his hat low, hiding his eyes. "Um…" he began quietly, "I… my dad said I need to be home." He kept his head down and left the group. "See you guys later."

With worried looks, the tennis team watched their youngest player leave the hospital room, his ruined bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuji looked up, concerned. "Did I say something?" he wondered.

"Um," Eiji said carefully, "well, o-chibi had quite a crush on Ryuzaki-chan."

A small smile lit Fuji's features. "How do you know that?"

"He told us," Momo said proudly.

Kaidoh was less than impressed. "You mean you threatened to drop his schoolbag in the river unless he admitted it," he growled.

Eiji just grinned nervously.

"I don't understand," Fuji said, his tone confused. Something was not right. "What happened?"

"I suppose you wouldn't know," Inui murmured.

"There was a train wreck three days ago," Tezuka told him quietly.

Fuji blinked. "No," he breathed. This memory came calmly, quietly, like the falling petals of the cherry blossoms.

* * *

><p>Fuji was leaving the tournament, empty handed. Yumiko had taken his bag home for him, having come to watch her brother play. Fuji had stayed to watch the rest of his team, and now, he was walking home.<p>

As he left the park, Fuji noticed a girl sitting on a bench, a tennis bag slung over her shoulder. He recognized her as Ryuzaki-sensei's granddaughter. Her name was… something with an S. With a smile, he stopped behind her and glanced down at her. "What are you still doing here?" he inquired.

Ryuzaki-chan jumped. "F-Fuji-senpai!" she exclaimed. "You scared me." She held up the paper in her hands, frowning. "I'm trying to figure out where Ryoma-kun's house it, because he left his bag here."

Fuji looked at the bag on her shoulder. It was Echizen's personalized bag, not his Seigaku one. He briefly recalled Echizen complaining about getting his school one dirty. "Why don't you wait until school tomorrow?" he wondered.

His comment made her cheeks go pink. "I just want to make sure he gets it as soon as possible," she admitted.

Her embarrassment made Fuji smile. "Can I come with you?" he asked gently. "It's too late for a girl to be out alone."

Ryuzaki-chan's lips split in a smile. "Yes, of course!" She jumped up and fell into step beside him, the map out in front of her. "I know where he lives, but I'm so terrible with directions."

"May I see?" Fuji leaned over, gazing at the map. "We're here," he said, pointing. "And Echizen lives…?"

"Around here," Ryuzaki-chan told him, pointing at a broad portion of the map.

Fuji held back a sigh. "So you don't know where he lives?"

"No!" she exclaimed, suddenly defensive. "I've… I've been to his house before, for English lessons." Her voice had grown quieter with each word. The tennis bag slipped down her shoulder, and she fought to swing it back up.

"Alright," Fuji complied. He held out his hand. "I can carry the bag, if you like."

Ryuzaki-chan looked uncertain. "Okay," she agreed slowly. She let the bag drop to her hand and passed it to the older boy. "Thank you."

A quiet passed over them. "You play tennis too, right, Ryuzaki-chan?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I'm not very good." She tugged self-consciously at one of her braids. "My form is bad, and my hair is too long." Her eyes watched the ground pass under their feet. "I'm thinking of getting it cut."

"Who said your hair is too long?"

The girl pulled at her braids even more nervously. "N-no one," she murmured. She looked up, her eyes shining. "Fuji-senpai, do you have someone you like?"

Fuji kept his gaze ahead. "Sort of," he replied. "I don't have a chance with her, though."

Ryuzaki-chan looked surprised. "Why not?" she exclaimed.

With a forced smile, Fuji shrugged. "I'm too short for her liking. Her last few boyfriends have been much taller than me."

"What's wrong with short guys?" demanded Ryuzaki-chan.

Fuji glanced at her. "Is the boy you like short too?"

The pink in her cheeks grew into a deep red. "Y-yes, he's very short."

"I see," Fuji said, nodding. "So that's why you can't wait until tomorrow to bring Echizen his bag."

Ryuzaki-chan jumped at his suggestion. "What? N-no, no, it's not Ryo—." She broke off. "It's not that," she mumbled.

Fuji just grinned. "I don't blame you," he said. "I hear he's quite popular amongst the freshmen."

"What about the girl _you_ like?" Ryuzaki-chan snapped. She was embarrassed, and hoped to embarrass him as equally.

"She's popular too," Fuji admitted.

Silence again.

Ryuzaki-chan looked back at the map. "It's funny, because I'm _sure _he—." She broke off with a small scream.

Fuji whipped around and caught her, pulling her back. She had accidentally stepped off the curb, and into the street. A car zoomed by, careening through the space where she had just been. "That was close, huh?" Fuji laughed. He could feel the pounding of her heart, his arm still around her waist.

Ryuzaki-chan only nodded, unable to speak from shock.

"Maybe we should take the train," offered Fuji. He kept his smile. She was so clumsy it was adorable.

"Yeah, I think that would be good," she agreed. She moved some loose strands of hair out of her eyes and tried to smile. It came out nervous and a little pained, and Fuji could not help but chuckle. "What?" she asked.

"Your face," he told her.

Ryuzaki-chan's eyes went wide, and her hand flew to her cheek, once again red. "I do _not_ make funny faces, senpai."

"Not funny," Fuji assured her. "Cute."

The two of them found the train station, and Fuji watched Ryuzaki-chan as she debated over which train to take. Really, Echizen was lucky to have such a sweet girl padding after him. He was a bit jealous. No one looked at _him_ that way.

"I think it's this train, Fuji-senpai," Ryuzaki-chan informed him, pointing. "This one should take us nearest to Ryoma-kun's house."

They boarded the train and took seats, chatting. Fuji was no longer sure what they talked about. Something about beestings and the hot weather and the newest episode of that show last night. But Fuji liked talking to Ryuzaki-chan. It was easy.

"Maps are really confusing," Ryuzaki-chan said at one point. She had the map out again, frowning at its scale drawings.

"We're heading here," Fuji stated. He touched the area on the paper, adjusting the tennis bag on his shoulder so it did not fall.

Ryuzaki-chan stared at where his finger was pointing, then let out an exasperated laugh. "I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "We're on the wrong tr—!"

* * *

><p>"No," Fuji murmured again. He shook his head insistently. "No, no, no, <em>no!<em>"

"You were on the same train?" Taka-san wondered.

Tezuka placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was not your fault," he told him.

Fuji blinked rapidly, his nose itching. How could the captain read his mind so easily? "I suggested taking the train," he argued, and his voice was cracked.

"No, no, Fuji, it's not your fault," Oishi assured him, while Eiji stood beside him with a shocked expression. "You can't be blamed for a train crash!"

But the guilt consumed the young tennis prodigy all the same. Echizen had had a crush on her. Ryuzaki and Echizen—they would have been so good together. And it made Fuji cry. It was his fault their love never bloomed, his fault such a sweet girl was counted amongst the dead. And what of Ryuzaki-sensei? Her precious granddaughter, killed by one of her beloved tennis players.

"Fuji!"

Fuji focused again, staring around at his tennis team with blurry eyes. "Thank you guys for coming," he said, "but I think you should go now."

The players exchanged looks, then quietly stood to leave. The last one in the room was Tezuka. He watched his friend carefully, his glasses glinting. "You know, Fuji," he began in a low tone, "you won't ever be rid of this guilt, because that is the sort of person you are."

Fuji swallowed thickly and looked away. He could not meet the captain's eyes, afraid that if he did his entire resolve would shatter.

"But if you lose yourself in this," Tezuka went on, "you may as well have died too."

Fuji winced at his harsh words, but it hurt even more to know he was right. He heard the captain's footsteps as he left the room. "Tezuka," he managed. He kept his gaze on the folds in the sheets, unable to look at his friend. "Ryuzaki… what was her first name?"

Fuji clenched his fist, desperately needing an answer. He waited, and, hearing only the silence, glanced up.

Tezuka had not yet left. His hand was on the door frame, while his head hung slightly. "I don't know," he replied quietly. Tezuka fled the room then, leaving his oldest teammate alone in misery.

* * *

><p>Suzuki found Fuji lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Ryo—Fuji?" she called timidly.<p>

Fuji kept his gaze on the panels above, unblinking. "Suzuki," he said, "what would you do, in my place?"

The nurse shrugged. "Same, I guess." She came up to the bed and sat down in the chair. "I would lie in bed, stare at the ceiling and wonder why it couldn't have been me instead."

Fuji moved his head to see her, the way her eyes seemed so far away and so, so sad. "Is that why you didn't want to talk about them?"

Suzuki jumped. "Talk about who?" she wondered, though her tone was forcibly curious.

"Your children," Fuji said. "You keep wondering why it couldn't have been you."

Suzuki's usually warm eyes turned hard in a heartbeat. "Aren't you a sharp one," she grumbled.

"I _am_ a prodigy."

The nurse sighed at his joke and gave him a struggling smile. "Yes, well, you've discovered what a terrible mother I am. And you're an awful friend. But we're both still alive, so we might as well do some good with ourselves."

Fuji managed to nod. "Tezuka," he began, glancing up at her, "my friend, he told me not to lose myself in this mess."

"He's right," Suzuki agreed, putting her elbows on his bed and leaning on them. "If you lose yourself here, then you lose that much more." With a smile, she put her hands on the bed and stood. "Get some sleep. Now that you know who you are, Dr. Sato can discharge you. Tomorrow, you'll go back to being Shusuke Fuji, and hopefully never have to set foot in this hospital again."

Fuji snorted. "Was I that bad?"

"My worst patient," Suzuki said with a wink. She went to the door. "See you in the morning." And she flipped the light switch.

***AN: Alright, so who knew it BEFORE I came out in the open and said it? Did I really fool everyone? I kinda doubt it. **

**Also, my excuse for him doing the Twist Serve back in chapter 2 is quite adequate, I think. Fuji was thinking he was Ryoma, and subconsciously performed Ryoma's signature move. It was because his brain was all mixed up.***


	6. Chapter 6

_Six_

"Oh, Shusuke, I was so worried about you!" Yumiko cried, lunging on her brother much like Eiji had.

"I wasn't," Yuuta growled.

"Yes you were you idiot," snapped Yumiko. "Now come and hug your brother." She turned back to Fuji. "I did so many tarot readings, and I kept getting these awful, awful messages saying you'd been in an accident, that you were hurt, that you would not know your family even if you saw them again. It was… it was terrible!"

Fuji smiled at her. "Nee-chan, I'm fine. Just a bit roughed up." He looked up. "Yuuta, was she panicking the whole time?"

Yuuta nodded with his eyes wide. "She would _not_ shut up, aniki, and she wouldn't put her freaky tarot cards away. It was driving me nuts."

"Did the doctors say you can leave today?" Yumiko demanded. Fuji had never seen his sister so distraught. "We miss you at home, Shusuke. I mean, the house actually looks _clean._ It's so weird."

"And Mom ironed your shirts," Yuuta informed him. "And made your bed. And organized your desk. It doesn't look like your room anymore."

"So that's what happens when I go missing," Fuji laughed. "Yuuta comes home, onee-chan panics, and Mom cleans."

"I didn't come home because of you!" Yuuta cried.

At that moment, the door opened, and Suzuki entered the room. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she announced, "but someone over eighteen needs to sign the discharge papers."

Yumiko leapt to her feet and tore the clipboard from the nurse's hand. "I'll do it. And then we can take Shusuke home, right?" She was already scribbling away on the paper. "Here," she said, and she thrust it back at Suzuki. "Come on, Shusuke, let's go."

"Alright, alright, nee-chan," Fuji surrendered.

Yuuta held out a bag. "We brought you clothes, like you asked." He placed it on the bed. "We'll wait outside, right, nee-chan?"

Yumiko blinked. "Oh, yes of course," she agreed. She followed her younger brother out of the room, and Suzuki shut the door.

"She's energetic," the nurse remarked.

"Not usually," Fuji told her, pulling his pants on under his gown. Damn. They were too small. "She must have been really worried." He pulled the gown off completely, revealing the bandaging on his chest. "Do I need to be concerned with this?" he asked, pointing at it.

Suzuki shrugged. "You need to put ointment on it once a day now, for the next… oh, three weeks, and change the bandages each time. And no strenuous activity until it's healed." She went to the cabinets and pulled out a tube of ointment. "Here's the stuff you rub on it. The stitches in your head will fall out on their own, so don't worry about that." She frowned. "That will be one hell of a scar, though."

Fuji took the tube from her and slipped it in his pocket. He then pulled on his white shirt, relishing in the familiar fabric. "I'm fine with that," he said, his hand floating up to touch the stitching. He and Yuuta matched now, he realized. "The worse ones are those we can't see."

Suzuki's eyes flickered, and she turned her focus to her shoes. "Yeah," she replied. "I suppose they are."

On impulse, Fuji stepped forward and embraced her. He heard her gasp, but he did not let go. "Thank you for everything," he mumbled.

He felt her arms wrap around his waist. "Yeah," she said, and he heard a smile in her voice. "You too."

* * *

><p>Fuji felt someone prod him in the back. Frowning, he twisted around. It was <em>her.<em> The girl he had told Ryuzaki-chan about. "Fuji-kun," the girl behind him whispered, withdrawing her long fingers, "where have you been?"

Fuji gave her his signature passive smile. "I had an accident," he told her softly, and his hand subconsciously floated up to the stitching on his forehead.

The girl gave a quiet gasp before her lips broke into a beautiful smile. "Well thank God you're alright," she replied.

Nodding, Fuji turned back around and tried to focus on the book in front of him. His thoughts drifted back to Ryuzaki-chan, and her need to be appreciated by Echizen. Grief threatened to overcome him, but the huge smile playing on his lips would not allow this, because she _did_ notice him, and for now, that was enough.

***AN: I hope that ending satisfied all of you. And I changed the title character to "Seigaku" because I realized it wasn't fair to say it was Ryoma. Sorry. If I left any loose ends, please let me know so I can fix it ASAP. Thanks!  
><strong>

**I have several other PoT stories in the making, and even more oneshots, but the chances of publication are slim. Mostly because I just wrote them to get the idea out of my head. There is one about Nanjiro I'll probably put up, cuz it's cute, but I dunno. **

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoyed my story!***


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